F
riends stay down the road and
come to our place to empty the
wine cellar of rosé then suggest
that we take them to some beauty
spot where they can have a hearty
lunch, stop every five metres to
take a photograph and as an afterthought
search for a source to replenish
the grape juice.
Which is exactly what happened last
week when we went to Mougins, a
picturesque village above Cannes
which Winston Churchill, Jean
Cocteau, Christian Dior and Edith
Piaf frequented and where Pablo
Picasso spent the last twelve years
of his life. After a gourmet lunch
at the Paloma, we ambled through
the village, stopping regularly at the
numerous artists’ studios where
our friends took a camera-full of
photos of the statues and artworks
dotted around the place.
I was looking at the massive bronze of the head of
Picasso near the entrance to the village when I heard
the never-to-be forgotten voice of U. Hueng Loe, “Aha,
you like?”
“What are you doing here U?” I said turning to see the
grinning pint-sized oddball man of a million and one
ideas that he claimed would make him a fortune. “I got
glate idee fo new wash, you wanna heya?”
“What happened to your last idea, the one about the thousandyear-
old egg watch?”
“I give up, not get rid of smell, people not like stinky list.”
“What list?”
“List, you know, like listwatch.”
“Ah wristwatch.”
“That what I say, listwatch. Now got betta idee, new matelial
people no think of. I heya peoples make wash with laminated
cabon and blown acetate, but me got oliginal idee flom hea.”
“A new material from Mougins? Like what U.?”
“You no tell no? Is Picasso paint.”
“I’m sorry U., but I’m not sure I understand.”
“Picasso live hear. He paint, not always
use all paint, it go solid, I make wash
case with solid paint, velly pletty collus.”
“Come on U. where are you going to
find some of Picasso’s old paint, anything
he left will be in a museum.”
“No ploblem. I buy old paint, call it
Picasso’s paint, cook in oven, make
block, then plototype, show next year in
Basel.”
I stared at U. for a long time, trying
to decide whether to laugh, cry or
simply run off.
“You no like idee?”
“I don’t know what to say U. I know the
watch industry is constantly looking
for new materials, but I don’t know if
they’re quite ready for your dried paint
watch cases.”
“Why you always so negative? I off now,
sclape palettes from painter I know. You
see, make big noise with wash, maybe
even lite about in Eulopa Sta.”
And with that he drew himself up
to his full 160 centimetres and skipped off into the
narrow streets of the village, whistling like a man
without a worry in the world. I think that if Winston
Churchill had heard of U.’s idea his mouth would have
fallen open, he would have spat out his Havana and
with a typical Churchillian grunt given U. the inverted
version of his famous V sign.
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